Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(109)

“Hello, priestess.”

What did the Unseelie woman know that Sorcha did not? The words weren’t merely an observation. As if she had seen her before, or perhaps her likeness.

Eamonn touched her chin. “You must walk from here, mo chroí.”

She touched her toes to the ground and balanced herself on his arm. “What are you going to do?”

“What I should have done a long time ago.”

“You’re going to fight him?” Sorcha shook her head. “Eamonn, more bloodshed will not fix this. You need to talk to your brother.”

“You think he wants to share the throne? It’s not possible for the Seelie Fae to have two kings.”

“Surely your parents had thought of this? You’re twins, Eamonn! They must have known there would either be two kings, or you would sit upon the throne.”

A shadow passed over his face. “They had always intended for us to share the kingdom. Fionn made his choice.”

There it was. Another faerie name she could add to her collection although this one she did not want. The name of the king danced upon her tongue and tasted like soured milk.

She did not want this responsibility. She did not want this name that branded itself into her mind because she knew this was the first faerie name she wanted to use.

This was the only power a human had over a Fae. She had his name, and now she could command him to do whatever she pleased. Sorcha could walk into the fields of battle and scream for him to stop and he would.

But such responsibility meant she chose a side. It meant she trusted that Eamonn would make a better king, and now that she had seen him in battle she was no longer sure of that. He had changed much. All she knew for certain was that he was not his brother.

She could not decide if that made him worthy of a throne.

Eamonn stared down at her. “You have chosen?”

“I will not choose. I came here to save my people, my family. Not to become entangled in the faerie courts and their wars.”

“I don’t think you have a choice,” he said. He traced a line from her forehead, down her nose, and across her lips. “You’re here, Sorcha. That means you’re involved.”

“I don’t wish to be.”

“Wishes mean nothing to the Fae.”

“I know.” The words caught around the thick knot of a sob.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“Eamonn, tell me what is going on. Where are you taking me?”

“I’m not taking you anywhere, mo chroí.”

He leaned down and caught her lips in a searing kiss. He poured himself into her, sinking tongue and taste until she felt the essence of him crawling underneath her skin. Their memories pulsed in her heart, and she knew this was goodbye.

Sorcha tangled her fingers in the long tail of his braid and pulled him towards her. She dug her nails into his skull, marking him as hers even further than she already had. Their teeth clacked together, blood welled at her lips, but she did not want to stop. If she stopped, her heart would break, and her being should shatter into a thousand pieces.

He pulled away.

“No,” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut. “No, Eamonn don’t do this. You promised to come back with me.”

“If you stayed.” His thumb traced a line over her bottom lip. “And you aren’t staying.”

Taloned feet gripped her waist. Her eyes snapped open, and the ground dropped away.

“No!” she screamed. “No! Please, no!”

Her soul splintered, shouting that she didn’t want to leave him. He shouldn’t be alone when he faced the battlefield.

Great wings buffeted air against her head. She struggled, to no avail. The beastly bird did not release its hold upon her waist and soon they were too high for her to escape.

The highest peak of the castle was nearly within her reach. Everything looked so small, even the armored faeries who attacked the front door and beat back those she loved. She could still hear the screams.

Eamonn stared up at her. Once she was too high and fell limp in the bird’s claws, he turned and walked onto the battlefield.

The faeries of the isle parted like a sea in front of him. His tarnished and aged armor looked like stone as he moved through the crowd. The golden army stood in front of him, a wall of power and clear intent.

Sorcha wondered which one was Oona. From so high, she couldn’t make out faces or traits she might recognize.

Eamonn’s people were short and squat. Their forms warped and stretched with animal features, strange skin, oddly shaped bodies. They looked so different compared to the perfection Fionn brought with him. These were the Tuatha dé Danann, the great faeries who enslaved those who did not deserve it.

The twins mirrored each other, standing at the forefront of their armies. Fionn sat upon a great white steed. The long tail of his hair whipped in the breeze. Eamonn stood with his legs rooted in the earth, his braid thin and still. They stared across a sea of blood and did not move.

“Bran?” she whispered into the wind.

A booming caw echoed all around her. She glanced down at the talons wrapped around her waist. Each claw was as big as her forearm. Rough grey skin covered them. She hadn’t realized he could turn into such a massive beast. Another secret revealed, another thing to store away in her memory.

“Are they going to kill each other?”